


all the parades in the universe

by fiordilatte



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Erotic Electrostimulation, Established Relationship, F/M, For Science!, Handcuffs, Inappropriate use of a Bayard, Light BDSM, Painplay, Pillow Talk, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8367100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiordilatte/pseuds/fiordilatte
Summary: Lance likes being handcuffed.  Pidge likes electrocuting him with her Bayard.  Lance’s Mom can never know.(Voltron is a team of many talents; Lance’s is, very specifically and unequivocally, shit talk.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> characters are portrayed as 18+ and sex is fully consensual  
> uhh don’t try this at home, Pidge and Lance make a very dangerous couple :')

“Hey _hey,_ Guardian Spirit of the Forest,” Lance says by way of greeting, with a big dumb grin on his face.

“Dude, you can just call me Pidge.”

“It makes you sound like an elemental fairy!” He kneels at the foot of her seat, hands clasped together reverently. “Oh Pidge, my wise forest sage slash girlfriend.”

She doesn’t even look up from her computer screen. “Sure, Guardian of Water.”

“You know what I heard goes well with water?” he whispers. “Forests.”

* * *

“Out of my seat, Lance. I need to work.”

“Get your own seat, Gunderson,” he protests, even as Pidge settles comfortably onto his lap and flips her computer open. “Oh come on!”

Lance, fearless Paladin of the Blue Lion, rendered helpless at the mere idea of a girl sitting on his lap. Flustered by the fact that she _is_ currently sitting on his lap. Also maybe a tiny bit turned on, against his better judgment. God damn, dick judgment is the worst.

“Calm down with the boner,” said girl tells him, very matter-of-factly, then proceeds to aggressively type about twenty lines of code without uttering another word.

“This is a team meeting,” he argues, his voice cracking from the stress of this wonderful space day. “You can’t just say that!” In front of Shiro, too? Oh man oh man. He probably should have just given her the seat. Uuurgh. In spite of himself, he hooks a protective arm around Pidge’s skinny waist so his nerdy other half doesn’t fall over from her crappy posture. That’s just another lecture waiting to happen.

Keith lifts an eyebrow at them but doesn’t say anything. It’s still really annoying and smug though, because it’s that patented your-girlfriend-is-sitting-on-your-dick-in-the-middle-of-a-team-meeting-gee-how- _inappropriate_ -Lance kind of look.

Good shit Lance, good shit.

* * *

Ever since Nyma tore his heart to shreds, Lance has discovered that he is actually very enthusiastic about being handcuffed, romantic styles.

He associates it with excitement. The excitement of being in the heat of battle, and stuff. Stuff like having a pretty girl clinging to his waist, telling him he’s _soooo cool and handsome and edgy_ while he kicks ass and saves the day in the Blue Lion.

This happy little story ends up with Lance chained to a fucking tree (by a hot alien) and left to die. Admittedly a bit scary, but also super kinky. His team usually reminds him that he is a gullible flirt who compromises missions because he thinks too much with his dick instead of his brain. Lance often retaliates by telling the entire crew that he caught Keith doing [Undisclosed Incident], and everything returns to its regularly scheduled chaos.

He kept the handcuffs as a souvenir, carefully stowed them away in the bottom drawer beneath his bed. Then Pidge found them, slapped them on his wrists, and smiled so brightly at him that Lance felt his heart drop a thousand feet and skid across the floor for her to keep forever. Assertive women tend to just do that to him.

In all seriousness, he never knew he would turn out quite like this. Lance Santiago is a pretty wholesome guy, or at least that’s what he’ll tell anyone who will listen. Intrepid hero of the universe, with the best hair on his squad. Granted, Keith has questionable taste and lately Pidge hacks at her hair with safety scissors every time it grows out, so the competition isn’t exactly stacked.

For years Lance has dreamed of being an ace pilot, of blasting through galaxies and seeing the universe up close and personal for himself. He’ll have a girl waiting for him to come home... and a girl waiting for him at each planet he saves, naturally. And by his side in every scenario is Pidge, his faithful comm spec, telling him that he’s a ‘fucking terrible’ pilot. Mutiny at its finest.

He’s nineteen and so far he’s piloted a giant blue space lion, lived through a heroic coma, been involved in a gigantic alien spaceship battle, and found a girl he really likes. So his thing for bondage - naw, _space bondage_ \- seems perfectly normal right about now. Must be a middle child thing.

Space handcuffs? Check. Space girlfriend? Heck yes. _Space sex in the space base -_

“Comfy?” Pidge asks, though she doesn’t sound all that concerned. She examines her handiwork, then casually moves to sit on him, her legs pressing on either side of his hips, pelvis just brushing against his groin.

The cuffs rattle at his wrists, where they’re keeping his hands secured tightly to the bedpost above his head, and Lance briefly wonders if this is what regret feels like. To test their hold, he pulls his wrists away slowly, noticing the clink of metal and the cold, sharp edges of the handcuffs threatening to cut into his skin. Pidge weighs about ninety pounds and is a good foot shorter than him, and she still has him completely helpless and at her mercy. As legend has it, Lance The Great And Really Hot Hero lives his life on the edge, like any brave astro explorer worth his tuition fee.

“I think...” he ventures, “I think this is nice.” Like, Pidge won’t leave him stranded on some planet that’s light years away so she can steal his Lion, and that’s pretty nice already. Quality team bondage time. He smiles slyly. “But I usually take a girl out for dinner before she brings me to her sex dungeon.”

“Because that’s been working so well for you,” his girlfriend says, cupping his jaw affectionately and leaning in for a kiss.

They’re sitting in the middle of Pidge’s bunk, on top of a fluffy green bedspread that feels a bit like fleece. Almost like from back home, but not quite. It’s more synthetic than soft, since Altean fabrics aren’t as cozy as they look, but Lance isn’t complaining.

The door is locked, and the only light comes from the muted glow of Pidge’s laptop screen and the small electronic porthole in the wall that she programmed to canvass the galaxy map. Their rooms are compact and military in design, which Lance has gotten used to since enrolling at Galaxy Garrison. No-nonsense accommodations built for sleeping and decompressing after battle and not much else (other than the occasional fap, according to _some_ Paladins). Since it’s Pidge’s room, though, there’s all sorts of tech junk strewn across the floor: robot parts, PC guts, and mad scientist crayon scribbles, to name the few that Lance can successfully identify.

“Let me just check the status of my upgrades first,” Pidge says, leaning over Lance’s shoulder so she can reach her computer, which is propped up on its very own pillow. Her pale thighs are pleasantly squished against his legs as she straddles him, and he swallows nervously when he remembers precisely how close she is. Pidge has short legs but Lance thinks they’re pretty cute, pale and willowy with the slightest suggestion of curves. “I’m designing new tech for your Lion because I’m tired of carrying you on team missions.”

Sick burn. But only because she loves him. Lance can appreciate that. The Pidge Gunderson version of dirty talk.

“You know that would be a lot easier if you weren’t grinding on me at the same time, right?” he asks, which is literally the most logical thing he’s said in his entire life.

“Yeah, so?” She shifts slightly on his lap, keys in another line of jargon that he has no hope of understanding. “I’m multitasking.”

“Well I - I don’t mind,” Lance backtracks immediately, because what kind of jerk complains about a cute girl grinding on his lap? He might be dumb, but he’s not an idiot. “Ahem. Uh, carry on.”

“I think it’s called Pavlov’s Law back on Earth,” Pidge informs him, while Lance angles his head up to kiss her neck. It’s no small feat, doing this in handcuffs while his girlfriend rubs slow circles on his tenting jeans - Lance would like to make this abundantly clear. It’s so _hard._ His dick.

“Thanks for the science lesson,” he mumbles against her skin. Nerds smell surprisingly good, like soap and soldering irons and sweet sweet justice.

“It’s all about mental conditioning. So you get tied up by a girl, and you immediately assume - hey, stop that!” She swats at his head, then mutters under her breath, “Cool heroes don’t have giant red... splotches on their necks when they save planets.”

“Pretty sure your helmet will cover that spot up. No one will know except for me.” Lance is quick on the comebacks today. Rapid fire.

“Ugh.”

Pidge acts like she doesn’t give a shit, but she leans forward again, allowing him some leverage anyway. He runs his teeth along the smooth sliver of flesh, and she sighs quietly into his ministrations. This fearless hero does not desist until his mission is complete, sucking at the soft skin despite his girlfriend’s inevitable eyerolls. He is determined to make a mark. All in the name of love, or something.

Hey, Lance is pretty good with girls. He remembers late night hookups past curfew, sneaking past Garrison security and charming his way into every cute female cadet’s dorm. Sometimes lucky, sometimes met with a punch to the face and a trip to the dean’s office. He’s definitely been laid, though. A couple times.

...Okay, _okay,_ like, once. The rest was just really hardcore masturbation in their team dorm while Hunk pretended he couldn’t hear and Pidge shouted profanities at the top of her voice from the relative safety of her room. But still. It’s - well, it’s debatable.

He pulls back, a thin string of saliva trailing from his lips to her neck. “Done,” he announces smugly. “Looks great on you.”

Pidge snaps her laptop shut. “Whatever, Santiago.” Salt Lord Gunderson strikes again.

Lance is the kind of guy who hits on girls but has never actually dated one before now, but he thinks he can pretend to be smooth until he makes it. Pidge says he’s ‘overcompensating;’ Lance calls it ‘playing to my strengths’ without really meaning it. He’s flirted a lot, but he’s never been with someone who programs robots to knock him flat on his ass, or who carries him when Galrans attack and the team doesn’t have a plan (sorry Shiro). So here he’s suddenly shy and maybe extremely terrified, because he talks the talk but hands-on experience has never been part of his list. Voltron is a team of many talents; Lance’s is, very specifically and unequivocally, shit talk.

In the fumbling darkness of adolescent dreamscapes and creepily efficient biometric door locks, Pidge draws her Bayard. There’s a flicker of green light, then a stinging pain in Lance’s chest, which under normal circumstances he might mistake for romantic feelings. Heart flutters. But, no. He’s just being electrocuted by his girlfriend. No big deal dude, just the general insanity expected by - _oh god it hurts so good._

“Ow!” he hisses, mid-shock and absolutely in denial. His body jerks violently with surprise, and he thrashes out from under her, his heart pounding away at a thousand beats a minute. “You suck! What the heck, Pidge!”

“I dialed it to the lowest setting! I have complete control of the situation!”

“That’s a weapon for defending the universe, not a -” he feels his face turn bright red, and trails off before he can finish the thought. The pleasure continues its course downward, and he can’t help but make a tiny mewling noise that is anything but disapproving. “Nnh....”

Stupid. Body.

“Yeah, I know what it is,” Pidge says brightly. “It’s my Bayard. I’m using it on you.” There’s a soft beeping sound, then a quiet click. “It’s kinda fun.” _Bzzt._

The Green Paladin from ten thousand years ago must be rolling in their grave.

“It’s not a sex toy!” Lance sputters, his voice pitching higher with each word until it arrives at a squeak. He’d never have believed he’d be the one preaching bedroom responsibility. But Pidge needs to understand pain thresholds - and the fact that he might be really into this. Also is his face on fire, or is that what embarrassment is supposed to feel like?

“I mean, it can be both. That’s sort of what I modified it for.” Dammit she is so hot.

And just like that, he’s hard as a rock and totally fucked. There is a fine line between sexy time and straight up castration, but apparently Lance likes to dance along the electrical tightwire. Danger is the game, ladies. The only ladies that Lance likes are the cute ones who can beat the shit out of him, then subsequently screw his brains out and wreck him. Hypothetically speaking. Le gusta.

“How did you find out I like that kind of stuff?” he asks. He’s sweating bullets, perspiration cascading down his temple, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.

“Uhh...” She presses the fluorescent green tip of her fully charged Bayard to his groin. It’s at one of its more humane settings, and it’s barely touching him through a double layer of cotton underwear and denim jeans, but it’s also his dick and...

No excuses, he definitely moans.

Pidge is wearing an absolutely shit-stirring grin. “Lucky guess? Your mother must be so proud.”

In response, Lance rambles something unintelligible about totally not being a sick masochist _please don’t tell my Mom I’m begging you Katie I will be your bitch for life -_

“Ah... ahh....” He stifles a groan and curses, completely melting into Pidge’s touch. _Mierda._ His cock strains against his pants, and he curses himself for wearing jeans in space. “Mm! Not fair.” To top it off, his wrists are aching, chafing against the hard metal cuffs, and he’s suddenly acutely aware of the lack of circulation in his arms.

Best day ever.

“Aw, Lance.” Her tone doesn’t change. “That’s adorable.”

“Am I?” he stammers hopefully.

Pidge pulls her glasses off and sets them aside; her hazel eyes pierce like laser beams into Lance’s debauched soul. “Not really, but you’re still mine. Technically.”

“Oh my god,” he wheezes, “that was the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

This butter smooth flirtation earns him another light shock to the chest, and Pidge teases a fully submissive whimper out of him - enough to make his toes curl at the edge of the mattress. “You are so weird,” she says. “Like spaghetti code.”

“Shh, no time for your trash talk now, Miss Holt.” This comes out in a kind of hazy mumble, the words falling into each other as he struggles to keep his thoughts mildly coherent. _“Estoy caliente.”_

“No kidding.”

Pidge is electrifying. Lance can feel the sparks fly, all the way into his central nervous system. He will probably die like this, handcuffed and at the mercy of a sexually inexperienced mechanical genius with an Altean murder toy in her little nerd hands. That thing can cut through solid titanium. On the bright side, at least he won’t die a virgin, so that’s fair enough. Joke’s on you, life.

“Don’t worry, I’ll throw you into one of the recovery pods if you go into cardiac arrest. Then we’ll go at it twice as hard right after.” Pidge grins, a glint of manic excitement in her eyes. “But I know what I’m doing. It’s called Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation, or TENS!”

“Like you and me, ten out of ten would bang?” he quips. It’s always been easy to go back and forth with Pidge, even when they were just Garrison bootcamp bros. Talking to her is so natural, and although he does his damnedest to be a ladies’ man, Lance can always be his lame self around her.

“...Right, so it’s pulse based, but I can switch to AC/DC if you’re feeling risky and don’t mind some, uh, light charring.” She holds her Bayard up thoughtfully, flicking switches and cycling through what seems to be the different levels of intensity. “This is the setting I customized for cutting metal plates, which is pretty nice, and could probably kill you.” A dreamy sigh, filled with all the sadistic intent of one lovely prodigy named Katherine Holt. (Despite Lance’s best wheedling, he is still not allowed to call her Kat, otherwise she’ll just send him salty undecipherable messages in binary for the rest of the day.)

“Pulse is fine!” he says quickly. “Easy peasy, livin’ breezy.” Holy crow, he needs to stop quoting that show.

“Do you trust me?” Pidge asks. “How crazy are you, anyway? Do we need a safe word?”

“Er, what about...” He furrows his brow, trying not to lose the moment. But it’s nice to know that Pidge is down with safe sex, even as she brings dangerous alien warfare tech into the bedroom. All he ever wanted was a reasonable girlfriend. “Form... Voltron?”

She nods, pleased. “Yeah, that would definitely kill the mood.”

Keith would probably kick the door down, demand to know why they’re running Voltron sims without him, say something douchey about Lance’s dick size (once he realizes that they’re in the middle of very kinky sex), tell Pidge that she’s totally right, then for some reason ask if Shiro is okay.

Fuckin’ Keith, always forgets to ask about Hunk.

But Lance is not here to kill the mood or summon Keith Kogane’s extraordinary talent in cockblocking; he’s here to get laid, and possibly to tell Pidge that she’s cute and smart. All while being handcuffed and tased, because boys like Lance Santiago need a challenge when ego comes a-calling.

As Lance ponders the merits of safe words, Pidge momentarily ditches the Bayard in favour of slipping her hands underneath his sweat-dampened shirt, and works her way up inch by inquisitive inch. Her nails are trimmed short, and her fingers are just a little rough from all their work with machines and computers. “Huh. I thought you’d be squishier.”

“I’m not a creampuff, Pidge!” he protests, a little miffed. He’s not as jacked as Shiro, and he’s definitely not as much of a tryhard as Keith, but Lance doesn’t think he’s that terrible to look at. For sure he’s more on the skinny side, because _maybe_ he didn’t work on his gains as much as he should have last term, but he’s still in shape by Garrison standards. Fit enough to be a pilot and look hot doing it.

“Well, I like this part,” his girlfriend says, her hands roaming over his abs. Not quite washboard - not yet - but decent, he hopes, as he fights yet another blush from creeping onto his face. She’s really giving him the once over. He’d poke Pidge back, if he had custody of his hands. “You said you always skipped gym class.”

“Uh, surprise?” he retorts, but he’s just relieved that she likes what she sees, because it would have sucked to disappoint her. She massages a few spots where she’s already shocked him, and he hums approvingly at the sensation of her cool fingertips on his tender skin. “It’s ‘cause I surf a lot back home. I’ll take you to the beach someday and we can go jetskiing.”

Pidge palms his chest, tracing over his pecs, letting the pad of her finger lazily circle over his quickly stiffening nipples. “Can we build a super jet ski?”

He grins up at her. “Well yeah, that’s why I’m bringing you. Okay, question - did you handcuff me just so you could check me out? Because I would have let you do that for _free._ ”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Pidge says flatly. “Now stop talking and get your pants off!” she orders, though she can’t seem to keep a straight face as she moves to help him finally wriggle out of the restrictive fabric.

He’s mortifyingly hard, cock throbbing and precum unabashedly dripping from his tip, just for her to see. In turn, Pidge takes her shirt off. Then her undershirt. And her bra, in quick succession, because Pidge is nothing if not thorough.

Lance stares dumbly for a moment, his jaw somewhere on the floor, eyes as wide as flying saucers. There’s ten seconds of static silence, then a rather belated: “Put that back on!” he half-screams, feeling the heat rush to his face. She didn’t do that the last time they made out.

“Lance, they’re just tits. What’s the problem?”

“I know,” he says, “but they’re _your_ tits.” He coughs loudly and forces his head to turn away so he can avert his gaze. He slams his eyelids shut, too, just to be safe. This is so weird. Would it have been more appropriate to say breasts? Or to just shut up and say nothing at all? Why is he so nervous?! “It’s not that I don’t like it,” he babbles out of the side of his mouth, “but I’ve never seen - ”

“Look at me,” she growls. Katie Holt, armed with a Bayard and totally topless. In a bed. Somewhere in outer space. Straddling him. Oh god, Lance is all sorts of Very Screwed.

“But...” He bites back a sharp cry when she turns up the current. “Ah! Okay!” Eyes back in action. Pricks of electricity radiate down to his core and shudders run through his entire body, because everything she does goes straight to his _stupid dick._ “I thought you were flat-chested,” he accuses in between electric shocks, because that is definitely the right thing to say at this exact moment. They’re not massive but they’re not nothing, either, small handfuls of perfection that he didn’t even know existed. And he can’t even touch them.

Pidge hits him with one of her ‘Lance, you’re such an idiot’ stares, which isn’t a far cry from her regular facial expression when she’s around him. “I wear a sports bra. This might be beyond your comprehension, but I don’t really like the idea of my boobs flopping around in space -”

He jolts forward, and, of course, face-first into Pidge’s chest. “Why not?” he sputters indignantly. “That’s a clear injustice to the universe. It would have prepared me better. Sorry, my face is in your boobs, isn’t it. I’m - I’ll just... die... right here. If that’s all right.” So soft.

But it seems that Pidge has better plans for him. Another little shock and Lance moans again for her, pathetic and hopelessly needy. She pats him on the head, ruffles his hair - _good boy, Lance_ \- grinds mercilessly on top of him until he can’t stand it.

“ _¡Basta!_ Stop!” he chokes out, the breath catching in his throat as he slams his head back against the bedframe. Fuck. It’s not the safe word, and he doesn’t mean it, but he’s feeling cloudy and he’s completely off his game. How he’s managed to last longer than three minutes is a mystery to him.

Pidge pauses, frowning uncertainly. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he admits, with a self-deprecating sigh, “you’re just too good at this, is all.” And that’s a scary fact. He can feel her getting wet through her underwear (Lance’s keen eyesight - he’s not Team Voltron’s marksman for nothing, dammit - has ascertained that they are a pair of black boyshorts, and really cute), and it’s comforting to learn that he does have that effect on someone, and that it’s not just part of the daily bullshit he spews. A real girl actually thinks he’s slightly attractive, and wants to bang him. Holy crap.

He’s somehow growing even harder, just feeling her fingers glide over his sensitive shaft. Every touch is feather-light and excruciating, and she knows it, plays it to every single advantage she can.

“Pidge,” he whines, frustration and need bubbling in his entire body, “please? Don’t leave me hanging.” His wrists are sore and his chest is throbbing, but pain is good. So so so _good._ “Fuck me already,” he breathes, and for once he doesn’t care about how desperate he might sound. And if anyone makes fun of him, he will gladly remind them that his girlfriend has a grappling taser and is morally ambiguous enough to use it on her teammates.

Pidge snorts. “You’re so uncool.” Still, she hooks a thumb down the waistband of her panties and pulls the dark fabric down her slender hips, then unceremoniously throws them to the floor. She continues to tease, rubbing the wet folds of her pussy along his erection just to rile him up and make him beg some more.

She slides one hand over the length of Lance’s cock, slowly guides him into her. Her mouth makes a tiny ‘o’ shape when the tip goes in, and she swears under her breath. With a small sigh, Pidge sinks onto his length, pressing her hands into his chest again to steady herself. She’s tight, like he expected, and so warm - slick heat all around him that’s got him absolutely reeling.

All he has to do is watch. That’s, like, impossible to screw up.

“Aw man, you have abs?” he mumbles. It’s dimly lit in Pidge’s room, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been checking her out. “I actually had no idea. Damn it.” Take off the dorky oversized sweater and Pidge is someone else entirely, taut and commanding and way beyond beautiful. She makes his head spin, and her touch has him cursing over and over again.

“You’re right, this _is_ more embarrassing than I thought it would be,” Pidge mutters tersely. Her knees buckle a little. “I don’t....”

“Babe,” Lance says, in his most serious Sexy Fighter Pilot voice, “you’re super hot. Besides, it’s just me, your favourite Paladin.”

“Oh. Right. Never call me that again.” Her tone is clipped, but she seems to relax, and that’s good enough for Lance.

“Okay, _mi amorcito,_ ” he responds easily, biting back a grin as he gently grinds up against her. “See, you’re fine. Does that, uh, feel okay?” The nerves evaporate, and it’s back to the Lance and Pidge show, and they’re freaking perfect together, and it doesn’t matter if they’re both complete dorks in bed.

She rides him in slow, shallow strokes, her creamy skin and soft curves parted by his hardness. Lance does his best to thrust into her when he can, careful to match her pace, thinking that she’s never been so vulnerable and that he probably shouldn’t ruin this by being a dumbass. He wishes he could hold her, wrap his arms around her and touch her the same way she’s touched him; but he also wants her to know that she’s the one in control here and that she’ll always get to call the shots (if only because she’s smarter than him).

He’s mesmerized. By the way her hips move, the way she’s frantically rolling into him and creating friction. The way he can feel everything, her hands her hips her legs - _her,_ and the intensity in every little movement she makes. The way she squeezes her eyes shut and tips her head back, the way that pretty flush covers her pale skin, the way her breaths tumble out in sharp gasps and the way she trembles on top of him.

He hears himself practically sob her name when he comes, and she shudders into her own shaky climax, convulsing around him before she slumps into his sweat-sheened chest.

She reaches to uncuff him, and leans up to give him a peck on the lips. “Next time,” Pidge says hoarsely, the sleek metal links dangling in her fingertips, “I wanna gag you.”

Lances massages his wrists gingerly, feeling where the skin was rubbed red. Might be hard to explain at breakfast, but it was worth it. “C’mere.” He pulls her back down into bed so he can wrap his arms around her. “You always have great ideas, even though you’re insane.”

“I was joking, you weirdo. But if you want, I’ll make the necessary adjustments.”

Lance chuckles, shifting so he can spoon her, curling his lanky body around her small frame and carefully pulling the sheets over the both of them. He’s still pleasantly tingly from the experience, and it is definitely going to hurt tomorrow. Minor side effects of romantic electrocution.

“Hey, Lance?”

“Uh-huh?”

“You know I’m gonna meet your Mom eventually, right? And you have to meet _my_ family when we find them. You’re not... scared, are you?”

He mulls it over, rubbing her thin, freckle-dusted shoulders in his large hands. “I mean, there’s this one pilot I know, called Gunderson,” Lance says sleepily, a sudden wave of exhaustion hitting him like a truck. He smiles into the crook of her neck, right where he left the hickey. “Bravest person I’ve met.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s crazy smart, and cute as hell, and I totally thought she was a dude for the past semester. And we just had the best sex ever.”

Pidge coughs. “So what’s your brilliant conclusion?”

“Well,” he murmurs, “I’m not _that_ scared. I do want her to meet my family. And I’m gonna meet hers too and we’re all gonna be super best friends, because I’m very charming and attractive.” He threads his fingers through Pidge’s sandy blonde locks and presses his lips to the top of her head. “Seriously though.” Deep breaths, Lance. Don’t choke now. “I really like you, Katie.”

“Oh,” she says just as softly, sounding a bit embarrassed. “...Uh, thanks?” Fucking nailed it.

“You don’t have to say it back or anything,” he adds breezily. “We can be casual and chill if you want. Works for me.”

He’s lying through his teeth - of course he’s already thought about where he’d sneak her off to, if they were still at home. He’d whisk her out for date night, just the two of them. They’d probably see a movie, hit up Miami Beach, then do some nerdy robot science. He’ll watch her script video games late into the night, and she’ll listen to him ramble about his favourite movie heroes... then they’ll kiss under the stars and maybe do something _really_ crazy, like hold hands and meet each other’s families.

Then he’ll teach her how to curse out every single one of his siblings in Spanish, because that’s just the kind of guy that Lance is. The proper conjugation of _joder_ is extremely important in the Santiago household.

But all that crap can wait, if she’s not ready. He’ll follow her lead.

They stay like that, curled against each other, silent except for uneven breathing - then Lance whispers, “Yo, Pidge.”

“What?” she mumbles into her pillow.

“When we get your family back, will you wear a dress again?”

She’s quiet for a moment, calculating her options. “Maybe.”

“Copy that, we’re rescuing them tomorrow.” It’s Lance’s stupid way of saying he’ll look out for her - but if anyone asks, he’s _so_ doing it for the dress.

Pidge just laughs, twisting around to face him. Her hair is tousled and even fluffier than usual, and there’s an innocent little smile playing at her lips. It’s the sweetest she’s ever looked, and Lance just can’t help himself. So he kisses her again, tucking her hair back behind her ear and brushing his thumb along her cheek.

“You know...” he cracks a grin, bumps his knee against hers, “I think my Mom’s gonna be amazed that I ended up with someone so short.”

“And I’ll tell her in explicit detail about how much you like the way I -”

He clamps a hand over her mouth. “Gunderson!”

Pidge’s voice comes out in a muffled snicker. “I really like you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! Lance pov is so fun to write.  
> PS. [space?] condoms were certainly used, condoms are great :D have a lovely day~


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